


The Heart that Squawks Pale

by signalbeam



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Eye Trauma (implied), Gen, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Self-Harm (implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 21:30:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signalbeam/pseuds/signalbeam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are parts of moirallegiance that are the stuff of grand romance, sweeping novels; things that makes one fantasize about plucking girls out of hell and boys out of the air. As it is, Kanaya chooses comedy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart that Squawks Pale

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hswc prompt: _Kanaya♦Terezi♠Rose(♥Kanaya)_
> 
> _"dark sister_  
>  _who art in hell_  
>  _laying about you_  
>  _everywhere_  
>  _what are you waiting for"_

Terezi does not knock on the door. She does not even come in through the door. Late in the night, she climbs a tree growing by Rose’s hive, scooches out to the end of the branch, and shouts through the window, “Kanaya! You must help me woo your matesprit.”

There are parts of moirallegiance that are the stuff of grand romance or sweeping, epic novels; things that makes one fantasize about plucking girls out of hell and boys out of the air. As it is, Kanaya chooses comedy. She shuts the window. 

Terezi taps at the window with her cane. She’s going to fall out the tree, Kanaya realizes. For a moment she lets Terezi cling to the branch and sweat out her possibilities—is that really what Terezi is thinking? Kanaya scowls. It is too difficult to figure out what is going on in Terezi’s head. She pops the window back open. 

“Sometimes I feel as though you have only created your history of outlandish deeds so you can show up here and tell me I should be grateful you have not come with a rocket launcher,” Kanaya says, resting her elbows against the sill. 

“If I die, you are never going to be able to guilt anyone into giving you free snacks.” 

“If you die, I will have a very large dinner.” She hauls her in anyway. She brushes the dirt and bark off Terezi. “I don’t have a pile ready.” 

“We can just use the floor. Anyway, it’s not your pale embrace I need. It’s your knowledge about what gets Rose hot in her pants.”

“That’s a very personal question,” Kanaya says. She’s searching her collection of rugs for suitable specimens; some to bean Terezi over the head with. Maybe one to roll Terezi in and send her down the stairs. 

“How can it be more personal than you wiggling your fingers in my eye sockets?” Terezi demands. She reaches with her cane, smacks Kanaya’s ankles. “Sit down. This is important. I need your matesprit. She sends me back my mutilated dragons fully stitched up! She has given away all of the kittens I sent her in the burlap sacks. She’s blocked me on Trollion. I want her heart as a trophy to dangle from the ceiling of my recuperacoon.” 

“I did that.” 

“What?” 

“The blocking and the stitching,” she amends. The kittens Rose gave to Roxy. “I had plans that night and the computer’s constant beeping was distracting.” 

There’s an awkward moment. Kanaya now has a rug at the ready to sit upon. Terezi is scowling. “You are supposed to be my moirail, not my auspistice.” 

“How was I supposed to know your collection of unlabeled dragons hanging from my tree was a hate gift for my matesprit and not your way of reminding me to mend and not saw?” 

“The extravagance,” Terezi says, standing too. “The grand gestures! We are a practical pair, you and I. When was the last time you touched my face or held my hand? When was the last time you even pretended to try to run Gamzee through with a chainsaw? Where has all the romance gone?” But there’s a wide, mocking edge in her voice that undermines the grievance—Kanaya thinks this, then is surprised when Terezi shoves her foot into the back of her knees. She collapses, pathetically, onto the floor. “Rose and I would be excellent together,” she says, bending over Kanaya and flattening her nose with a finger. Kanaya tries to push her away, but Terezi puts a foot on Kanaya’s upper arm, digs her knee into her solar plexus, pins her with the skill of a small, scrappy fighter used to winning. “In your heart of hearts, you know that when my perfectly chosen words aren’t ruining your one chance in the month to get laid, Rose and I will be a combination that’ll make the dark gods themselves vomit in fear.” 

“It is more frequent than once a month.” 

“Twice a month. Whatever! Now stop being an obstinate bore. No one likes a leech who doesn’t know when to stop. Tell your darling moirail what your objections are, or I will put my finger up your nose.” Terezi looks at the finger she has on Kanaya’s nose with great thought. 

“You—nngh!” And up it goes. Kanaya snaps her jaws, then stops when she feels the sharp point of Terezi’s nail press against the soft, cool inside of her nose. She lets her mouth and fists fall open in surrender. Terezi pops her finger out, and tweaks Kanaya’s nose absently. She sits next to Kanaya and looks at her ponderously, or at least furrows her brows ponderously. The actual eyes were stabbed through with the same sword that went through Vriska, and though the eyes still rest in the sockets, they’re as sightless as they have ever been, plain as yolk, with faded teal patches. What was the last grand pale gesture they had shared? Kanaya with a thin needle and some thread, Rose holding a magnifying glass and flinching away; the white scars behind the shades. 

Terezi pats the fallen rug. Kanaya goes over and sits on it. “You don’t understand humans,” she says. “They do not make distinctions between their romances. Rose will invariably draw me into mediations, and I will be kicked out of both quadrants—and the worst of it,” she laments, “will be that at the end of the day Rose will insist that I still be her matesprit. And then is the problem of confused human exclusivity—” 

“You’re worried I will pluck your matesprit from your undead embrace? You are letting your insecurity turn into spite! Again.” She rams her elbow into Kanaya’s ribs. While Kanaya’s trying to exhale hard enough to make her ribs pop back into place, Terezi says, “Would you prefer that I go back to Gamzee?” 

“No!” 

“So what is the problem?” she says. “Rose will decide whether any of your paranoid jealousy will be warranted, anyway, unless you’re only worried about sharing a bucket. It'll only encourage me to experiment. Sexually. With her—” 

“I will add cayenne to your sopor slime,” she says, baring her teeth. 

“—armpits,” she says, serene. She wags her eyebrows, then holds out her hands. After a second, Kanaya reaches out to take them. “How could I want to leave this behind for some hot human who reminds me of her brother?” she says, almost dreamily. Kanaya winces. She is preparing herself for a counter-attack. She knows how Terezi’s sweetness works. But there is nothing, only the affectionate cradle of fingers to hand. 

“She is hot,” Kanaya says, waiting. 

“Do you think she’ll leave a dragon head in my recuperacoon?” 

“Are you attempting to guilt me into facilitating your boneheaded romance?” 

“Yes,” Terezi says, almost blandly. But then her grin cracks open. She leans in and kisses her twice, once under each eye. 

“Perhaps not a dragon head,” Kanaya says, still blushing from the heat of the kisses. She rubs her cheeks, then draws Terezi’s hands close to her chest, in a promise. “But I will make sure she kills some lizards.”


End file.
